Fortune and Pheasants
by homeric
Summary: Galahad/OC. Misunderstandings, danger, love and dead wildfowl. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**A little fluffy thing written for LANCELOTTRISTANBABY's valentine challenge.**

It wasn't that she was the prettiest girl in the village - she wasn't; and she certainly didn't make any effort with her appearance. Indeed if she had gone to the trouble of tying bright ribbons intoher long dark hair, or swinging her hips when he and his fellow knights rode past, he might not have noticed her at all. She lurked in the shadows, brown eyes gleaming like the hunting dogs that slid silently through the patrons of Vanora's tavern; pale, graceful and utterly alone.

Tristan had noticed her first and nudged Galahad as they rode past. The young knight was restless, eager for the battle that they would face the next day, and barely glanced up. She met his eyes for one brief moment and that was it.

Bors knew her name and Vanora where she dwelt, but it was not until a full week had passed that he had the courage to visit her. Emily, her name was Emily - the daughter of old Charlie the farrier. She and her father lived in a little stone house at the edge of the woods, with a hutch full of chickens and an ancient shire horse beloved by the neighbouring children. She was said to be shy and quiet - more comfortable with the horses she helped her father tend, than the attentions of the village boys who looked at her with interest. Galahad searched for her in the market place and watched the swaying grass of the meadow that led to the forest often, but he did not catch another glimpse of her, nor did he sleep without thinking of that one brief moment when her eyes had burnt into his.

The other knights had noticed his preoccupation and guessed it's cause. Bors laughed at him, Gawain offered advice and Tristan said nothing. When a full week had passed he picked up his bow and shot a pheasant in the cool quiet woodland where even the birds hushed their voices. With a muttered apology, he prised off one of his horses' shoes with his sword, and led the animal towards the little house, combing his unruly curls back from his face and wondering why he felt so nervous.

"Sir knight." Emily stood before him uncertainly, her dark eyes lowered. "The forge is not alight and I am afraid that I cannot help you. My father is working at Palomes' stable at present, perhaps you should seek him there."

"I will." Galahad gave her a smile. "I have not seen you in the village for a long time - are you perhaps hiding?"

She looked up in astonishment, her cheeks flushing crimson. "I had not thought… I mean…" Giving a brief curtsey, she looked around rather desperately, finally settling her gaze back on the ground.

Galahad watched her discomfort with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. She had not stopped blushing since he had led his big gelding up through the meadow and caught her chatting to the chickens as she fed them. Untying the pheasant that was tied to the back of his saddle, he tossed it down with what he hoped was a decent attempt at nonchalance.

"Here. I have no need for it - perhaps you could make some use of it."

"I am honoured Sir." She blinked at the offering in confusion, "it's a… a umm…"

"It's a pheasant." Galahad's eyes narrowed and his voice was defensive.

"It is." Emily looked at the dead bird that had been flung at her feet and hunted for something to say. The creature stared back at her with glassy eyes and shining feathers: unmistakably and irrefutably dead. A clean kill but surely a pointless one - what on earth was she supposed to do with it?

"Thank you," she said hesitantly, "it's very…" _Dead? Bloody? Disturbing? _"Kind of you," she finished lamely.

"I thought you could make it into a stew , or cook it… or something." Galahad had to fight from continuing his pointless babbling. She was obviously nonplussed by the gift and he mentally kicked himself. Lancelot would have wooed her, Gawain given a sweet smile and made a flattering comment regarding her eyes, her hair, her dress. What had he done? Dropped a mutilated wildfowl upon her doorstep, and from the look upon her face she was none too impressed by the offering - not that he could blame her.

"I'll go and find your father." He nodded politely, feeling his heart sink at the bemusement in her eyes. _He was an idiot, she probably thought him a half wit with a broadsword, he was acting like a fool.. _Grabbing the reins of his startled horse, he pulled it back towards the village.

"Sir?" Her voice was hesitant and she still did not dare look him in the eye, but Galahad could not help but feel something inside him twist with hope.

"I have been told that I make a decent stew. If you are hungry… I mean if you'd like to… I could make you some."

"I would like that very much, my lady." He smiled and watched her blush again, barely resisting the urge to brush the unruly dark hair from her pink cheeks.

"I would like that too." She reached out tentatively and patted his horses' shoulder. "My name is Emily."

As she turned away, Galahad brought his horse around to follow her.

"I know."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**This was supposed to be a one-shot, but Mutpadarra asked for a bit more with Galahad and Emily, so this is for her. The idea of a poisoned apple is also hers - thanks sweetie :)**

"_It's all arranged." The stocky man, looked around carefully before turning back to his companion. Cloaked as they were in shadow they were almost invisible to the bustling market place that teemed with people only yards away._

"_Yeah, you say that, but you know what'll happen if you're wrong. Mess up and," the taller man ran a finger across his throat. "That Samartian bastard knows hundred different ways of killing and none of them are quick."_

"_Neither's the poison." Rubbing his hands on his tunic as though he were trying to get rid of some imagined contaminant, the red-head looked over towards the tavern. "Six has got the apple, he'll give it to the scout calm as anything - the half wit thinks it's a surprise. A couple of hours later the legendary Tristan will be pissing himself in agony as he dies in the dirt, we can off the boy while everyone is distracted, and be safely tucked up with a couple of wenches before anyone is any the wiser."_

"_Maybe we shouldn't… I mean I know he's Samartian scum and she was just a whore, but maybe you shouldn't have killed her, Abe?" The tall man's voice wavered nervously. "There's all the other knights and they won't take kindly on you going after one of their own. I mean Cery is.. Was.. Yours, but when Arthur gets back he's not going to be happy, and killing one of his men isn't going to do you any favours."_

"_When Arthur gets back he'll find that his scout has tragically died of a stomach ailment. I doubt that he'll notice, but Cerriden - whore that she was - left the castle with, I don't know; a soldier? A Woad?" The last few words were almost snarled. "It doesn't take long before rumours become truth. The unfaithful bitch is rotting in the forest, soon her Samartian lover will join her." With that, the man rubbed his hand over his face, visibly trying to keep his temper under control before stalking out of the narrow passageway, closely followed by his friend. Within moments they both disappeared into the market crowd, the dim path between the forge and the barn that they had left silent save for one small figure that emerged slowly from behind a pile of hay bales._

_Oh… _Emily tried to think of a suitable swear word and found all in her vocabulary lacking.

Instead she hissed the breath she had been holding out through her teeth and made doubly certain that the two men she had overheard weren't coming back .

So much for staying out of sight and out of trouble.

The first had been managed easily enough; years of keeping herself to herself and not arousing attention had meant that she didn't suffer the usual bawdy comments by the men who frequented the market, nor attract the interest of the thieves who slunk like wolves through the crowd, preying on the unwary. _Staying out of trouble._ That, however, was something that she was less skilled at.

_It was all Galahad's fault,_ she thought irritably and rather unreasonably. He was the only reason that she was in the market in the first place; her father had nodded kindly when she had explained that they needed more grain for the chickens, but they both knew that there was a full sack in the pantry.

Stupid man. Stupid knight. Stupid her for apparently losing every bit of common sense and falling head over heels in love with a curly haired over-grown boy with blue eyes and more scars than a man of his age should have to carry. He'd brought her pheasants the first time that they had met - a strange gift, but the meal they had made had provided the foundation for something tentative and sweet.

A little like their first kiss, Emily thought sadly. He had winced - his lip had been split the day before from an over-zealous training spar, and she had mud in her hair. Nonetheless, she had shivered with delight and kept the memory wrapped up tight in her mind, only taking it out to savour late at night when no-one could see her smile.

And then four days ago he had given her the flowers.

Ragwort. Little yellow flowers that signified endings. That signified death. In their village they were traditionally left as a token to break off an engagement; a way of ending a relationship without the embarrassment of public gossip or outright humiliation on behalf of the spurned girl. Perhaps it was kind of him, Emily had thought with bemused pain at the time. Perhaps he was a cowardly bastard who didn't dare face her, she thought afterwards.

Biting her lip she checked that she was alone. Tucked behind the forge, the acrid smell of burning metal stung her nostrils as the smithy cooled a newly fashioned blade in water, and the billow of smoke gave Emily enough cover to slip out into the narrow passageway and into the courtyard. The noisy, bustling market was dizzying for a moment, but she pushed her way through merchants and their customers, ignoring the flash of bright silks and the low seductive scent of foreign oils laid out by dark eyed strangers. A couple of girls she vaguely recognised tried to tempt her with fresh bread, but she ignored them. There was only one place she needed to be, although it was perhaps the last place in the world that she wanted to seek out.

Smoothing her hair quickly and horribly aware of her grubby dress and less than tidy appearance, Emily squared her shoulders and walked as confidently as she could towards the two guards who stood at the entrance to the knights' quarters.

"I need to speak to Sir Galahad," she commanded. "It is a matter of utmost importance."

The two men remained impassive. Eventually the larger of the two, a burly blond of perhaps forty years gave a sigh.

"Look, love, are you new?" he asked not unkindly. "Trollops round the side door, soldiers round the front. Gareth'll let you in but he'll expect a thank you if you get my meaning." He rubbed his thumb and forefingers together.

Emily blinked in confusion for a moment before the guard's words were understood.

"Oh! Um, no. I mean… no." She didn't have any money, and couldn't explain why she wanted to see Galahad before she knew who else was involved in the plan to kill Tristan, so she did the only thing that she could think of. Lied between her teeth. "His squire sent me. He's sick and he wants me to ask Sir Galahad who he wants to take care of his horse. There are quite a few stable boys see, and all of them wouldn't mind the opportunity, so I said I'd go and ask."

"Gavin's sick?" The other guard looked at her in surprise. "He looked alright this morning"

_Oh for goodness sake, would nothing go right? _Emily shrugged and smiled at the dark haired guard. "He's got his head in a bucket at the moment, and if I were you I'd stay well away. I'm surprised that he hasn't thrown up his insides, the way he's been retching and sweating. But if you want me to get him I will, it's not contagious. Probably anyway. At least I don't think…"

"Go on." Both guards looked distinctly nervous. "Second door on the left at the top of the stairs," the blond muttered as she sped past. "And no shagging!"

The last piece of advice echoed around the small stairwell far louder than it should have done, Emily thought as she slid to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. Bolting back the way she had come wasn't an option, and since the stairwell provided absolutely no other means of escape, she was forced to look at the young man descending the stairs and looking at her with confusion.

"Emily?"

Galahad's shirt was rumpled, his hair tousled. Although his breeches were laced and he had his boots on, he squinted when he stepped into the light. He looked like a newly awakened wolf cub, Emily thought, before remembering half-heartedly that she was angry with him, and more urgently that his friend was in danger.

"I've got to talk to you," she said hastily, not meeting his eyes. "Please, can we go.." glancing back at the guards that were watching them with ill-disguised interest, "somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?"

The dark haired guard gave her a lascivious leer, and frustrated anger made Emily bold.

"Your room." Without looking back to see if he was following her, she bounded up the stairs. _The second door on the left,_ the guard had said. Seeing the aforementioned door, she pushed it open. She had the right room: Galahad's greaves were tossed in the corner of the small room, his bow propped against the bed. Hearing the young knight enter behind her, she scuttled over to the window and looked at him warily.

"Emily…" Galahad looked utterly confused as he watched the slender girl fidget restlessly in the far corner of his room. "I am glad to see you, but are you sure that you …" _aren't mad? Drunk? Forgotten all sense of propriety? "_are all right," he finished.

"No." Emily shook her head. With a dim sort of shame she realised that her hair was all over the place, her dress was wrinkled and her eyes were probably shadowed with lack of sleep. _So much for making sure that she looked her best when she next saw him, _she thought ruefully. "It's about Tristan."

"Tristan?" Galahad looked bemused for a moment before his eyes narrowed. His posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, and Emily watched warily as his expression hardened. "I see." With a bitter laugh, he opened the door and nodded to her. "Nice of you to let me know yourself, but I'll give you leave to go now. I wish both of you joy." His voice indicated that his sentiments were anything but truthful.

Emily, for her part, looked at the open door in utter bewilderment.

"Then you know?" She asked. _Surely Galahad wouldn't be party to anything that would hurt his friend? What exactly was going on?_

Galahad leant back against the doorway and spoke quietly.

"That you had transferred your affection elsewhere wasn't hard to guess from the way that you have been avoiding me. That it was to one of my so-called brothers was a bit of a surprise however. I knew Tristan had a woman somewhere; I didn't realise that it was you. Tell me, Emily, is it only Samartians that you spread your legs for, or do the soldiers benefit from your favours too?"

Emily felt the blood seep from her cheeks and felt goose bumps rise upon her arms as his words registered. _He thought she was a whore. He thought that she was bedding Tristan and gods knew how many others. _A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat but she squashed it down. _Fine, _she thought rather wildly. _Let him make all the excuses he wants for his behaviour. But for now there were other more pressing concerns._

"Someone is going to kill Tristan tonight," she said quietly, her voice tightly controlled. "I overheard two men talking earlier. They've given Six a poisoned apple to give to him."

"What?" Galahad looked at her in disbelief. "Where did you hear this?"

"In the alley by the forge." Emily tried not to look at the young knight. "They didn't know I was there."

"And you were skulking about in back streets for what reason?" Galahad looked incredulous and Emily curled her fingers into her palm to keep from slapping him. _I was hiding because I thought I saw you at the far end of the market and I was trying to avoid you, _she thought.

"I just was," she answered crossly instead. "And I'm telling the truth. Think what you like of me, but Arthur won't be happy if he knows you let his scout die when you could have prevented his murder."

With a sigh, Galahad scrubbed his hand through his dark curls and gave Emily an unreadable look.

"Fine," he said shortly. Flipping his quiver over his shoulder, he grabbed his bow and sheathed his sword before marching over and grabbing her forearm none too gently. "where is this attack going to happen?"

Emily tried to pull away, but Galahad merely tightened his grip. Looking up, she met his eyes and almost flinched. There was anger in his face, but also something that bore far more resemblance to hurt and betrayal.

"The man said that he had given the apple to Six, so probably the tavern," she muttered, allowing him to lead her out the door and back down the stairs.

The noise of the market hit her like a wall of noise when they left the cool confines of the castle, but Galahad made his way easily through the crowd, Emily trotting behind him, occasionally giving a weak smile of apology to the people the knight barged past. It didn't take long to reach the tavern. As usual it was busy; the smell of stew permeated the air as did the chatter of several dozen patrons who sat at wooden benches. Men in various stages of inebriation, farmers discussing the harvest in hushed tones and working girls in their bright, slightly tattered dresses smiling and pocketing coins from the soldiers who eyed them almost as hungrily as the dogs eyed the meat wolfed down by their masters. It was a small group of people at the far end of the tavern that immediately caught Emily's attention however.

Bors lounged lazily against the wall, his bulk taking up most of the bench he sat upon. Two of his young daughters swarmed over him, trying to get him to play, but his attention was upon the wiry scout who had just thrown a knife into the dead centre of the skull of the stag's head that was mounted on the wall. In horror she watched as Six, Vanora's beloved but simple minded son ran up to Tristan and gave him the apple that he had been polishing carefully. The scout gave a rare smile to the boy and raised it to his lips.

"Galahad!" Emily's voice came out as little more than a squeak.

The young knight swore in a language she didn't understand before letting her go and grabbing his bow. In the space of a heartbeat he had plucked an arrow from his quiver and let it fly. His aim was true.

Tristan had drawn his sword within moments of the apple he had been holding being torn from his grasp and slamming into the wall, Bors had dumped his children through the serving hatch to safety, before drawing his own weapon, but the danger had passed, Emily realised with shaky relief. Galahad didn't look at her when he marched into the tavern, but Emily followed him nonetheless..

"Gods bollocks!" Bors roared as he realised who had fired the arrow. "Aint we got enough enough people trying to kill us without trying to take each other out? What do you think you're playing at?"

Tristan lowered his sword slightly when he saw that it was the youngest knight approaching him rather than an enemy, but he raised a questioning eyebrow at Galahad.

Galahad, for his part, ignored both older men and gestured for Six to come forward. The boy had sought refuge underneath the nearest table after the arrow had slammed into the wall beside him and his father had started shouting. Galahad, however, had always been kind to him and since Da wasn't yelling anymore, it was probably safe to come out, he decided.

Emily watched as the boy trotted over trustingly. Although he was nearly twelve years old, Six's name was apt, for his mind had never developed past that of a child. Sweet natured and gentle he was generally adored amongst the tavern patrons, and utterly without guile. He answered Galahad and Tristan's questions about the man who had given him the apple without hesitation, only looking to his father when he sensed the sudden tension in the air.

"Did I do bad?" he asked Bors. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"It _was_ a surprise, and no, you didn't do anything wrong." With a sigh, Bors gestured for his son to come to him.

"Look." Nine, Bors' daughter stepped hesitantly towards the wall where the arrow protruded, the messy remains of the apple it had pierced splattered on the wooden panel and upon the ground. A small sparrow, one of the many who lived in the rafters and took advantage of the many crumbs and scraps to be found was tottering almost as though drunk. Although Nine tried to pick it up, it abruptly fell sideways, it's beak open, obviously dead.

"Bad apple," Nine said dubiously before being hauled away by her father.

Lifting his daughter onto his lap, Bors huffed out a breath and looked at Tristan. "So Tris, any particular reason why someone might be wanting to kill you?"

Something flickered briefly in the scout's amber eyes but he said nothing.

Emily looked from the silent scout to Galahad, who although having saved Tristan's life was looking at his friend with ill disguised loathing.

"The man," she said tentatively. "The man who did - tried to do this - said it was because of his wife. Her name was Cery.. Carry.."

"Cerriden?" Tristan crossed the short distance between them in two long strides, and it was all Emily could do not to quail beneath the intensity of his amber gaze. "Do you know where she is?"

_Somewhere better than this life,_ was her first thought. There was desperation in Tristan's words and she found herself struggling for her own.

"I think.. From what he said, the man I overheard, that is… I think he killed her." The scout visibly tensed, and seeing the anger and pain in his eyes, Emily put a hand on his arm involuntarily. "I'm sorry. He said that her body is in the forest. It was her husband and his friend, a tall man that poisoned the apple."

For a moment Tristan brushed her cheek with calloused fingers.

"Thankyou, girl." Barely nodding to Bors and Galahad, he slipped through the throngs of people before anyone could stop him, his eyes dark; every inch the silent killer that children spoke of, their voices thick with fear and awe.

"He's going to kill them isn't he?" Emily felt a little strange, as though she were looking at things through a window far away. Witha shiver she realised that somewhere in the forest lay the body of a girl who had been killed for daring to love someone other than her husband, and that Tristan would make sure that they paid for her death.

"Yes." Galahad's voice was matter of fact, but he looked at her curiously. "He called you "girl"."

"I am a girl," she answered automatically. "I was the last time that I looked anyway." Really, if she didn't sit down soon she might fall down and that wouldn't do at all.

"You aren't sleeping with Tristan are you?" He asked almost sheepishly.

"I'm not sleeping with anyone." The world seemed to go blurry, the floor racing up to meet her, but before she hit it, Emily was dimly aware of being swept up by a pair of strong arms. Resting her head against his warm chest, Emily let Galahad carry her to a nearby bench and settle her on his lap. _She could be angry at him in a minute, _she thought to herself. _She was obviously a bit ill so it was alright to listen to the steady thump of his heart beneath the warm skin of his chest, to concentrate on the hand that rested on her hip and to breathe in the scent of him. Just so long as she didn't look at him then this didn't count as weakness._

"Why didn't you meet me these last four days?"

With her head resting against his chest, it took a few moments before Emily worked out what Galahad had asked. Confused, she wriggled around and looked up at him.

"You gave me the flowers, you know why."

"I give you flowers and you decide that you won't speak to me again?" He looked down at her with bemused blue eyes. "I thought that women liked flowers."

"We do." Beginning to feel that she had made a terrible mistake, Emily spoke slowly and clearly. "You gave me ragwort flowers."

"Ragwort?" Galahad's brow furrowed. "I gave you Summer Gold. That's what the trader called them anyway. I thought they were pretty - didn't you like them?"

Emily bit her lip to keep from laughing. A sweet, almost sharp joy twisted through her and she had to keep from squirming with happiness despite the less than ideal circumstances.

"In my village they are traditionally left as a signal that a match between a man and a woman has been broken."

"Oh." Galahad thought on it for a moment before her words sunk in. "OH". Pulling Emily up so that she straddled his hips, he ran a hand over her untidy hair and kissed her soft mouth gently. "I'm sorry." Kissing her neck, her collarbone and the little patch of skin behind her ear that made her shiver, before he cupped her face in his hands. "So what does Summer Gold mean?"

Emily giggled and kissed Galahad briefly, delighting in the scrape of his beard against her cheek.

"It means, Sir Galahad, that you should be more careful when buying weeds disguised as flowers by unscrupulous market traders."

"And perhaps not be so quick to jump to conclusions?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That too."

He pulled her to his chest, his hand tracing the sweet, softness of her. Together they sat quietly, watching the candles shrink and the shadows grow longer. When they were almost alone in the tavern, Galahad led her to his room and laid Emily on his bed. She slept with his hand upon his shoulder, he did not sleep at all, but merely waited for the dawn.

_Life was short, _he thought to himself. _Life was brief, bitter and often cold._ Leaning back, he felt the softness of Emily's hair against his cheek and the soft ebb and swell of her breathing. _Tomorrow he would ask her, _he decided. _Tomorrow when the sun came up and the world was as fresh and bright as the future they could forge together._ Turning his head slowly, so as not to wake her, Galahad watched Emily sleep before slumber claimed him too.

**A/N the flower confusion is actually sort of true. Ragwort is a weed that is toxic to horses and most livestock and is traditionally (in Dorset at least) a symbol of bad luck. It gets pulled up and thrown away, but last year a little flower stand by the road near me started selling it under the name of "Summer Gold." Lots of tourists bought it and it made me laugh a bit - just shows what a bit of cheeky re-packaging can do lol.**


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